


k3rnel-pan1c.ksd

by sacrificeplay



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dark Steve Rogers, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Things aren't as they seem, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, i put so much thought into this fic PLEASE give it a chance, not gonna add too many tags to avoid spoiling my own fic lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:46:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sacrificeplay/pseuds/sacrificeplay
Summary: He has somehow been granted mercy, per Steve's say. It is not out of being deserving of such thing, but out of redemption. What he has done cannot be undone. His internal fatal error promises no recovery, and his system is far too corrupt.Steve handles him—reprograms him—accordingly. He could finally be good. He could finally serve a greater purpose. No longer corrupt. Not a single bug in the system.The system is finally free of errors, so why is the scream in his mind constant?Why is it persistent?
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	1. _runt1me-err0r.r00

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! thank you so much for clicking :') you are in it for a ride!!
> 
> ***PLEASE NOTE THE FOLLOWING:  
> -this will be a dark fic that deals with dark matters. i'm trying so hard not to add too many tags in fear of spoiling my own fic, but do heed the tags with every update to avoid any possible triggers!
> 
> -tony still has the arc reactor in this fic and still needs it to live. 
> 
> -tony is pretty young in this fic (late twenties/early thirties) for the sole purpose of adding to his vulnerability. 
> 
> -the fics titles are inspired by mr. robot, but the plot isn't. i just took off with the concept of programming and what not. other than than, the plot won't follow with the concept of the show. 
> 
> -there's most probably gonna be heavy use of symbolisms along the way, and i am open to any discussions of them. 
> 
> i am always so glad to receive comments of thoughts, opinions, prompts, criticism, and questions!! please never hesitate to leave a comment. it quite literally keeps me going and makes my day :') 
> 
> enjoy reading!!!

Kneeling by the door, he waited for Steve.

How he had ended up in such position was a data far out of reach; perhaps irrecoverable. However, he clung to the images of the HUD screen blaring its angry red screams of an ERROR, and the voices of a Russian spy and a British AI commanding him to make a turn.

"Stark, make a turn! Don't go on that ship!"

"Sir," JARVIS' eloquent yet warning voice chimed through. "The suit's capacity is at 20%. We should do by Ms. Romanoff's orders."

However, Captain America deemed his travel necessary, ordering him to go in there, gather as much data on their enemy's ship as possible, and only then would he be able to come back.

He came back, alright. Sure, it troubled him deeply that he couldn't remember how he had come back to the tower and on his bed, but he's back. The mission surely must have been successful.

"You're awake."

His head snapped to where Steve's voice came from. "How'd you get access to my r—"

"You shouldn't talk," Steve said. "Your suit has been completely destroyed."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll fix it," he said with a grunt as his bruised legs swung over the bed to stand. "I'll go to the lab right n—"

"No, you're not," Steve said as he laid a firm hand flat over Tony's chest to stop him. Tony furrowed his brows in confusion over the Captain's strange behavior.

"Tony," he said, more sternly now. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Uh, not really. Explosion... I think? Yeah, the ship exploded. That's why the suit's destroyed, yeah?"

The look on Steve's face was one Tony couldn't quite read. There was a confusing mixture of determination, authority, and _something-not-right._

"Tony," he repeated. "You killed the Avengers."

Hot, white dread washed over Tony's body. His mind raced for an explanation. No avail.

Trace data.

Recover data.

Invalid authenticity.

Access denied.

Runtime error.

_ERROR._

Again, trace data.

_Stark, make a turn!_

Recover data.

_SUIT CAPACITY 20%_

_Gather as much data as you can._

Runtime error.

_ERROR._

Access denied.

_Stark, make a turn!_

_Stark, make a turn!_

_Stark, make a turn!_

Wide, frantic, misty eyes looked up at the Captain, who's face was as solemn as ever.

"They would've not died if you had listened to me."

Tony shook his head, "No. No, no, no, nonononono, No! NO!" he sobbed. "You told me to fly into the ship! I remember that! You told me... told me... fuck! YOU TOLD ME!"

"Why would I say such thing?" Steve replied coldly. "Seriously? Your ego still keeps you from seeing your wrongdoings. You have the nerve to blame me?"

Trace data.

But... where's the data? There's nothing to trace. No memory of the password's characters. No authentication. His mind is whirring. The codes are running before they come to crash. Steve knows something he doesn't.

"W-What...? How? How did... oh god... please tell me you're lying..." heavy hands landed on his shoulders as he sobbed in wild abandonment.

"That doesn't matter," Steve says. "What matters is that I will be here to keep you in check. Although you do deserve the punishment SHIELD wanted to implement, I was able to negotiate and reason with them."

Something foul floated in the air. Tony could feel the humidity of the room overwhelm his senses, and he wasn't quite able to register what was being said.

"I have granted you mercy. You should thank me."

"Steve, none of this is making any sense!" he shouted through his choked sobs. "What happened? They're not dead! Thor is a god! The Hulk! He... They... They can't! Please Steve!"

"What happened is that Iron Man killed the Avengers. I would’ve been dead right along with them if it weren’t for my position," Steve answered, ice still lacing his tone.

This has always been his worst nightmare; his internal fatal error. There's a scream echoing against the walls of his skull. He's choking on sobs as his mind runs its codes. Ones and zeroes of no significance. What's done cannot be undone, and Steve has said they're dead. Steve has said he killed them.

"You took too much pride in being called the Merchant of Death. I should've seen it coming to this," Steve said as his eyes narrowed in what should look like a glare.

"You're lying! You're fucking lying! God, please! Please let me see them. Please, Steve!"

"You do deserve to see them. I've told SHIELD so myself. But out of respect for their dead bodies, you can't. And the world isn't ready to know it's so vulnerable. Most importantly," Steve does glare, after all. "Enemies can't know the Avengers have been killed by their friend. You'll become an easy target for the enemy to take advantage of, to have you build weapons for without any moral reclamation."

Tony blinked at the man before him. His mind couldn’t quite process this. All he knew was his need to scream. Why can’t he remember anything but the explosion? Anything else coming to his mind was in glimpses, which were hard to get a grip of. Corrupted data that served no purpose other than augment his frustrations.

Steve didn’t stop talking. And Tony realized that no matter how much his mind wanted to deny all of this, no matter how many displays of a runtime error his mind kept displaying in the forefront of his skull, this was real. He could see it in the dark shade Steve’s blue eyes wore; Steve’s eyes were always baby blue. _Weren't they?_

“I’ll look over you. Make sure you are well fed and handled accordingly,” Steve said. “Until then, sleep. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

“What the fuck?” Tony mumbled amidst his sobs and confusion. “What the fuck! I didn’t kill them! Please... oh god... oh my god oh my fucking god how how how! HOW!” Tony screamed as Steve turned his back and started to walk away. “NO! COME BACK HERE! STEVE WHAT THE FUCK! I DIDN’T KILL THEM AND THEY DIDN’T DIE! THEY CAN’T DIE! YOU’RE LYING! YOU’RE FUCKING LYING!”

Banging on the now locked door, he screamed and cried and mumbled to himself of how they can’t be dead. His nightmare was always meant to be nothing more but a mirage of mental torment. How did it come to this? How could he not _fucking_ remember?

The migraine wearing his brain thin and the screams tearing through his throat weakened his body significantly. He felt the tugs of the shrapnels surrounding his heart urge him to calm down. But how could he when he was quite literally living through a nightmare? The program running despite his best efforts to stop it, shut it down, end it.

His throat gave out, and soon, the screams tearing through his throat were settling into his brain, engraving themselves into the walls of his skull to bleed through the nerves.

He killed the Avengers. Iron Man killed the Avengers. Tony Stark killed his family. And Steve was the only one who had made it out alive. Through his panic and dread, he didn’t stop to focus on the nasty bruises and cuts littering the Captain’s skin, and now he cries in shame and failure and grief. He is staring at his bruised hands, and all he sees are the veins carrying his filthy blood that should’ve been drained. He should’ve died.

He hears the door click, he sees Steve’s legs before his crouched figure, he could hear what sounds like talking, but he isn’t too present in the moment. He doesn’t know for how long he has been kept in his room, all he knows is that it’s way too dark outside, and so it is inside his head.

“Tony. I just gave you an order. Obey, or there will be consequences,” Steve said sternly.

The world is blurry as he looks up at Steve, who holds a pot of honey in his hand. Tony doesn’t even find it strange or asks too many questions. He just cries.

“Open your mouth,” Steve ordered.

“Why?” Tony croaked.

Steve doesn’t speak, just slightly shakes the pot in his hand as he takes a step closer to stand over the brunet. Tony doesn’t have it in him to protest heavily, but the situation still bewildered him, nonetheless.

“It’ll give you enough energy to be up and running,” Steve explains. “The least you could do is follow through my orders from now on. If not for my sake, then for them. For their souls to rest easy.”

A cracked, defeated sob escaped Tony’s lips, before he nodded and parted his trembling lips.

Steve didn’t bother to use a spoon as he tilted the pot over the brunet’s lips, who cringed upon the awfully sweet taste, but opened his mouth wider as his empty, hungry body craved more. The thick syrup dribbled over the left corner of his mouth, and Steve quickly brushed his thumb over it before casually rubbing his sticky thumb over Tony’s lower lip. Somewhere in his mind, behind the screams and pop ups of errors, there was confusion. _What is Steve doing?_

Then again, he couldn’t judge. Steve was most probably grieving and angry. Perhaps this was his method of coping through this. Perhaps SHIELD has landed a heavy load of handling the situation upon the Captain's shoulders. Perhaps he wouldn’t tilt the pot back up before Tony chokes on ripples upon ripples of heavy sweetness and absolute misery.

Whatever it is that was happening, his mind was barely catching up on. His system was far too slow. With his eyes transfixed on the dark blue shade of Steve’s eyes, he wondered how long it would take before his corrupt system is too hung to function—before it’s too far gone.

Trace data.

Recover data.

Invalid authenticity. 

Access denied. 

Runtime error.

Steve tilted the honey pot back and muttered bitterly “Tonight, you will be positioned by my bedroom door. I need to keep an eye out on you at all times, but I also need to sleep. You will stay kneeling by my door through the night. Understood?”

Tony nodded miserably, suddenly feeling quite slack and weird. The thick, sweet honey had left behind a heavily bitter aftertaste, and Tony wondered for a solid minute if the label on the pot promising 100% PURE HONEY was true to its words. The fuzzy defiance his body carried as he followed Steve to his bedroom through the dark halls of his tower— _have they always been this long and narrow?_ —buzzing his mind until the constant scream transitioned into the maddening sound of pixelated static.

How he had ended up in such position was a data far out of reach; surely irrecoverable. The bits and pieces of the images he clung to pixelating into nothingness, and he sobbed silently kneeling by Steve’s door. 


	2. _3xpl0it.wmv

Days of anger and denial passed to soon be replaced with days of grief and misery. Tony didn’t know how to cope, but Steve has been merciful and kind despite him not being deserving of such thing. Sure, being starved with the exception of the few spoonfuls of honey and gulps of cold water could be regarded as a punishment, and so were the painful and cruel reminders of his friends’ death due to his faults. Although Steve didn’t say it, he quickly learned that the tower is his prison where he could do his time. Daylight never came through the windows, at least not wherever Tony stepped foot in, and it’s not like he left his floor, anyway. Steve simply didn’t allow such thing. 

He was on some sort of program that the blue eyed soldier didn’t allow much negotiations about. They were simple terms of conditions: always kneel in Steve’s presence; always eat and drink whatever Steve offers; never talk back to Steve; never attempt to leave the floor, especially not to the lab, unless Steve says otherwise; never talk unless being talked to; never attempt to contact the outside world. 

The program could’ve worked. The checkbox of such terms could’ve been checked. Tony’s system, however, wasn’t too far gone. He still held the dignity and stubbornness of the Stark that he is, and Steve knew Tony’s obedience wouldn’t be immediate. 

But what seemed to tug on Tony’s strings was the vulnerable state he was in. It still didn’t ignite obedience, but it did ignite something close to said term: defiance. He didn’t kneel or shut his mouth and drank much more water than what Steve allowed him to, but the different snacks that lined the pantry he saw upon being brought to the communal kitchen reminded him of what each member used to indulge in. The strawberry cream filled chocolates were Natasha’s favorite; the ranch flavored chips were Clint’s; the matcha flavored biscuits were Bruce’s; the cookies and cream were Thor’s. Tony fell on his knees as he cried. Steve thought that was close enough to kneeling. 

Every spot in the tower outside his floor reminded him of them, and he slowly but surely started obeying the order of never leaving his floor. 

When Steve insisted once upon a day that Tony kneels before him, Tony started yelling through his cries for Steve to fuck off. What followed after was the cruel monologue of how all of this was just Tony’s comeuppance, and his cooperation through his punishment is not a matter of discussion, but simply an order to be obeyed. Tony cried and expressed his immense guilt, but refused to obey. 

Tinkering. He needs to tinker. His mind is whirring, and the scream that nested itself in his brain wouldn’t quiet down for the love of him. A distraction was much needed. His mistake, however, was expressing such need of doing so. 

“Tony, can’t you see?” Steve said softly as he ran his fingers through Tony’s hair. Tony always resisted the urge of leaning into the touch. He didn’t deserve the touch of a gentle hand even if the words that followed were of a much harsher treatment. “Whatever you build invites chaos, invites death. You mustn’t build a thing or merely think of doing such thing. Your fingers, your hands, the muscles that move them, the very nerve in your brain that allows such thing must get destroyed. It must die. It must die along Natasha, Clint, Bruce, and Thor.” 

That night, Tony screamed and punched the wall of his room until his fingers broke, and Steve didn’t bandage them, but he did plant gentle kisses atop the bleeding skin and called him good. He finally did something good. 

* * *

Steve was being too kind to him. Tony was incredibly confused. Why was the soldier being so kind although Tony wasn’t following his orders? Why would he lay gentle kisses atop his hands and forehead as he screamed and cried of his deep regret and guilt? 

“Because I know you’ll get there,” Steve answered the questions when the brunet asked them once upon a night of watching a movie Tony’s mind was too loud to decipher. “I know you’ll start to see why such program is needed. Perhaps you are too selfish to see that it wasn’t set out for your own good, but for the good of others. I’ll give you the time to see it for yourself. I could be patient. I know you’ll get there in time.” 

_Will I?_ Tony wanted to ask as he shuddered, but refrained from doing so. He has talked for far more than he was allowed to, anyway, and he has been the one to initiate the conversation. 

Instead, Tony tried to focus on the movie playing. The protagonist was kissing his love interest in the scene, and the camera’s focus faded out of the couple to zoom into the background that revealed an outsider staring mischievously. The outsider was a replica of the protagonist’s love interest. A clone? A twin? Tony didn’t know as his heavy eyes gave into sleep. 

When he woke up, he was on his knees, head resting against Steve’s thigh. Tony went back to sleep. 

* * *

There was no form of technology around him other than the TV. Even JARVIS has been disabled. Tony didn’t know what to do with himself as the days passed by. He was often left alone, which was somehow worse than being around Steve, especially with how awfully cruel and cold Steve would some days be. He did say that he could be patient, which was not a promise of such thing. So he wasn’t surprised when Steve would painfully tug on his hair as he tipped a honey pot over his open mouth, not caring when Tony would choke against the heavy, sickly sweet substance. He would also drag the insomniac brunet through the halls and throw him painfully on the cold, hard ground by his room’s doorframe. 

But there were other times in which Steve ran his fingers through his hair, kissed his now crooked fingers, and praised him through his self destructive tendencies. Tony was confused for sure, but he was also a man of logic. He saw the pattern. Whenever Tony obeyed an order or worked on breaking his hands and cutting through them, he was praised. A part of him knew he didn’t deserve such thing, but it was a breath of fresh air amidst the dark state of mind he was living through, and he chased after it. 

“See how quiet and content the world is when you are following the program? When you are being good?” Steve said with a soft smile as he ran his fingers through the hair of a knelt brunet. Tony’s eyes welled with tears. After all, the news channels weren’t blaring wars or alien invasions. The world was a better place as long as he didn’t intervene in it. 

“Will I always be of no use?” he whispered as the tears started streaming down his face. 

“Not quite,” Steve replied. “I’ll find a proper use for you. Something you could be truly good for. Just not yet. I need to make sure you’re good.” 

“I’ll be good,” Tony promised. “Thank you so much for giving me a second chance.” 

* * *

Steve started feeding him blueberries, though some of which tasted bitter than others, and Tony quickly figured out that some of them were surely poisonous. They weren’t poisonous enough to kill, but they did send surges of pain through his chest enough to make him cry. 

Steve was being far too kind to a killer, and Tony knew he must display a change—seek redemption. So he started obeying Steve’s orders word for word, and soon enough, he was good. Steve’s kindness didn’t stop pouring over him. He allowed him to kneel closer to the bed rather than by the doorframe, and although Tony didn’t dare rest his head on the mattress, he did kiss Steve’s feet and choke on his silent sobs. 

He punched the walls with much more vigor, and was satisfied when the bones of his wrists started breaking under the impact. Steve, kind and righteous and good, offered for the first time to bandage them, but Tony frantically shook his head. Steve smiled and kissed his forehead. Tony sobbed not due to the sharp ache of his hands, but due to the ache of his heart over such kindness. 

He’s vulnerable. He knows it. He hopes that such vulnerabilities would be leveraged rather than be the reason why he would be deemed of no use. However, when Steve tugged at his hair for him to look up into his dark blue eyes— _seriously, have they always been this dark?_ —he heard words he knows he doesn’t deserve. 

“I have a use for you,” Steve murmured. “Starting tomorrow, you won’t be so useless anymore.” 

Tony couldn't help the sobs that ran through his body as he bowed his head to kiss Steve’s feet in gratitude. 

And as the scream in his mind grew louder, he looked up to the soldier from his kneeling position to say, “Thank you. Thank you for making me good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment!! they truly make my day.


End file.
